Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10)

Sweet Talk (Buchanan-Renard #10) Page 35

“What’s the matter?” Collins asked when she noticed Olivia’s stark complexion.

Olivia wasn’t going to talk about Jane’s illness now, and so she said, “I don’t want to talk about family any longer. I’m sick of it. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay,” Collins agreed. “Tell us about Grayson.”

“Olivia can’t keep her hands off him,” Jane announced.

Both of her friends had a good laugh. Olivia didn’t take exception because it was true. She couldn’t keep her hands off him. Jane was simply repeating what she’d told her.

“I don’t understand it. I really don’t,” Olivia said, perplexed. “I make all these resolutions, and the second I see him, I want to . . . you know.”

“You’re in love with him.” Collins stated the obvious.

“Of course I’m in love with him. I wouldn’t be so miserable if I weren’t. But I’m not going to marry him.”

“Has he asked?” Jane wanted to know.

“No.”

“Has he told you he loves you?” Collins asked.

“No,” she answered. “But I know he cares about me. It’s all the little things he does . . .” Her voice trailed off as she thought about him.

“Like?” Collins asked. “Give us an example.”

“He carries an extra inhaler for me because he knows I’ll forget to put one in my purse,” she said. “And he does so many sweet, loving things for me.” Tears came into her eyes. “When I first met him, I thought of him as the James Bond type. He was so sophisticated and sexy and . . .”

When she didn’t go on, Collins said, “Love ’em and leave ’em, like Bond?”

“Exactly. He isn’t like that, though. He’s responsible and solid.” She thought of him with Henry. Grayson was patient and loving, and she knew he would always be there for his nephew. Henry knew it, too.

“I sometimes think about a future with him, and then I remember what your parents went through, Collins, and your mother, Jane. Sam’s family, too. I saw their fear, and I heard them crying. For a while there, when everyone but Dr. Pardieu thought we were dying, your families came and kept vigil. It was awful for them.”

Collins nodded. “We all remember, Olivia.”

“How can I put Grayson through that?” She shook her head. “I can’t do that to him. I won’t.”

Collins didn’t try to convince her that she was wrong. How could she with Jane so ill now?

“You can’t live your life waiting for it to come back.” Jane made the statement. “What a fatalistic attitude. Olivia, you need to stop being afraid.”

“What about you, Jane?” Olivia asked. “What’s going on?”

“And don’t tell us it’s the flu again,” Collins warned.

“I’m feeling better again. It’s the weirdest thing. I get so sick, and then I bounce back. Since Dr. Pardieu has been away, another doctor has been seeing me. By the way, Logan’s going to be here any minute. Please don’t talk about my illness in front of him. Okay? He gets so upset. I know he’s scared, so keep it upbeat.”

They quickly agreed. Then it was Collins’s turn to catch her friends up. She told them she was still waiting to hear when she would start at the academy. She couldn’t understand why it was taking so long, but she thought it might have something to do with her medical history.

Exasperated, Jane said, “You’re just like Olivia. The two of you need an attitude adjustment.”

An argument ensued, and Jane deflected it by changing the topic. “I can’t believe everything that’s happened to you in the last few months, Olivia. You were attacked by the CEO of a major corporation and his goon, and you were rescued by the FBI. You were shot three times, and then you were almost kidnapped and taken to a mental hospital.”

“I hope that’s the end of it, and I really hope and pray they find whoever shot you,” Collins said.

Logan walked in and heard what she’d said. “Jane told me that Martin guy was the shooter.”

His eyes were red, and it was obvious he’d been crying. No one mentioned his condition.

“I thought so, too,” Olivia said. “But until there’s absolute proof, Grayson is going to continue to provide protection for me. He doesn’t care if I want a bodyguard following me around or not. He’s extremely stubborn.”

“What’s absolute proof?” Logan asked. He walked to the side of the bed and kissed Jane’s forehead.

“A confession would seal it,” Jane suggested. “But he obviously isn’t talking.”

“Finding the weapon would also do it. If they could trace it to Martin, Grayson would be convinced,” Olivia said.

“When do you get to go home?” Collins asked Jane.

“Hopefully tomorrow,” she answered. “Olivia, will you be around in a couple of weeks?”

“For the Dracula room? Absolutely.”

“Why is the doctor waiting so long?” Collins wondered.

“He wants me to finish some meds first.”

Olivia yawned again. “I’m exhausted. I’m going home. Come on, Collins. Let Jane visit with her brother.”

Olivia waited until she and Collins were in the elevator before talking about Jane’s condition. “She’s losing her hair.”

“I saw it on the pillow,” Collins said.

“She doesn’t want us to know.”

“We could try to talk to the doctor who’s covering for Dr. Pardieu, but he has to hold her confidence, and if she wants to keep it secret, he can’t tell us anything.”

Several heartbeats later, Collins took Olivia’s hand and whispered, “It’s back, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Olivia allowed. Determined to be more positive, she added, “And maybe not.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Olivia had suffered a week from hell. The phones never stopped ringing; the threats never subsided, and because of the disruption she was inadvertently causing at the office, she’d been forced to work at home. By Friday, she was feeling like a caged orangutan.

She pretty much looked like one, too. She continued to shower and brush her teeth every day, but getting dressed didn’t seem all that necessary. Her new uniform was a pair of baggy sweats and an old faded T-shirt. She didn’t bother with a bra or shoes and didn’t do much of anything with her hair. Every morning she put it up in a ponytail, but by nightfall, most of it was hanging around her face. Her eating habits weren’t much better. She walked around with a bag of chips—the unhealthy kind—and a Diet Coke.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her laptop balanced on her knees and a pencil clutched in her teeth. She had just reached for a potato chip when there was an unexpected knock at the door. She stuck the pencil in her hair, popped the chip in her mouth, and went to answer it.

When the door opened, Grayson took one look at her and started laughing.

She dared him to criticize her. “What’s so funny?”

He wasn’t about to tell her. In her present frame of mind, she wouldn’t believe him if he told her that, no matter how she dressed, she was beautiful to him. Her face scrubbed clean and dressed in clothes that could pass for bag lady rejects, Olivia could still grace the cover of any glamour magazine.

The phone was ringing as he shut the door behind him and locked it. Another caller was leaving a threatening message.

“How many . . .” Grayson began.

She shoved the bag of chips into his hand. “Hold that thought,” she said as she rushed into the study to listen to the rest of the message.

The voice was an angry growl. “You got that, bitch? Bill and me are gonna hurt you because you took all that money. We’re gonna . . .”

Olivia picked up the phone before Grayson could get to her and yelled, “It’s not ‘Bill and me’—it’s ‘Bill and I are going to hurt you’—dumb ass.” She slammed the phone down.

“Okay, sweetheart. I think it’s time for you to get out for a little while,” Grayson said calmly. He put his hands on her shoulders and guided her out of the study. She was as stiff as an ironing board.

“How can you want to be seen with me?” She sounded pitiful. She realized she was feeling sorry for herself, but the phone calls were getting to her, and so was the isolation. She hadn’t stepped outside her apartment since Monday.

“I’m hoping you’ll change your clothes and put on shoes,” he answered drily, as he pushed her along into her bedroom.

“I’m going to have to change my name,” she said, “and move to Europe where no one knows me. That’s what I have to do.”

“It will get better,” he promised.

She scoffed at his prediction. Grayson turned her around and tilted her chin up. “Snorting isn’t ladylike, sweetheart.”

Ignoring his comment, she said, “Do you know what’s really ironic? Natalie and my mother haven’t gotten all these hostile calls.”

“Have you talked to them?”

“Only once. Natalie’s been leaving her own horrible messages for me. I picked up yesterday when she called, and it was more of the same. She and Mother have gone into hiding, so these threatening calls aren’t reaching them.”

“Do you want them to get the threatening calls?”

“No, of course not. I’m just saying . . .”

The tenderness in his eyes warmed her heart, and suddenly the whining and complaining weren’t all that satisfying.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“I’m taking you out to dinner.”

“Do you have your gun with you?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Okay. If you want to risk it, we’ll go to dinner.”

The lopsided ponytail was driving him to distraction. He pulled the elastic band free and handed it to her. “That’s better,” he said. He traced the side of her jaw with his fingers, leaned down, and kissed her.

“Sometimes you overwhelm me,” she whispered. How could this gorgeous, sexy man want to be with her? He could have any woman in the world, and yet here he was.

“Overwhelm, huh? I like that.”

He looked a little too arrogantly pleased with himself. “Only sometimes, Grayson.”

“We have a reservation at Veronique’s in ninety minutes. You’re wasting time.”

She was astounded. Veronique’s was the hottest restaurant in D.C. It had received rave reviews and had been booked solid every night since it opened.

“It takes six months to get a reservation there. How did you—”

“Olivia?”

“Yes?”

“Wear the white dress.”

She gasped. “But that means—”

“I’ll explain everything in the car. Get moving.”

He didn’t have to tell her again. She was already stripping out of her clothes in the bathroom before he pulled the bedroom door closed behind him. She showered and washed and dried her hair in record time. It took her longer to do her makeup. She was going for the pouty, sultry look. Her dark, smoky eye makeup made the color of her eyes more intense. After applying her red lipstick, she dropped her robe, sprayed perfume, and slipped into her lacy undergarments. Next came the dress. It was probably sinful to love a piece of clothing as much as she loved this dress, but it was so perfect. It was made in 1960, but it had never been worn . . . until tonight. She’d paid a fortune for it at a vintage shop, and it was worth every dollar. It had a low-cut square neckline and long tapered sleeves that came just below her wrist. The straight skirt was short, just to her knees, and the fabric clung to every curve of her body. This dress was so spectacular, it would make any woman look and feel like a temptress.

And she was ready. After one last inspection in the full-length mirror, Olivia took a deep breath and opened the door without making a sound.

Grayson was standing by the window. His head was bent, and he was going through his text messages. He glanced up and saw her, and his reaction was instantaneous. His mouth suddenly went dry. He couldn’t swallow, and breathing was impossible. She was stunning. He was so aroused, he would have sworn his blood was on fire coursing through his veins.

Olivia didn’t need to hear any compliments. His smoldering eyes said it all.

A minute passed and then another, and he still hadn’t said a word. He slowly began to walk toward her. The way he was looking at her made her heart race. If he were a panther, she was his prey, and every nerve in her body tensed in anticipation.

For Grayson, the primal need to touch her overrode caution. He stood in front of her, one hand on the small of her back, the other at her neck. He roughly twisted her hair around his fist, forced her head back, and growled, “Open your mouth for me,” a scant second before his mouth covered hers. His tongue thrust inside, stroking hers, forcing her to respond. He savored the taste of her. For this moment in time she was completely his. No one else could have her. She belonged to him.

The scorching kiss ended. He lifted his head, and staring into her eyes, he slowly rubbed his thumb across her lips. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll get your coat.”

Olivia could barely get her wits about her. She hurried back into the bedroom to collect her evening bag. The kiss so rattled her, she’d almost forgotten it. She caught a glimpse at her reflection in the mirror. Her lipstick had stayed on her lips. Impressive, she thought. Especially considering the way Grayson had tried to devour her. Just thinking about that kiss made her heartbeat quicken.

Grayson helped her with her coat and locked the door for her. He still hadn’t said a word about her appearance, and for some reason she was inordinately pleased by that fact.

He had parked illegally in front of her building again. John was standing behind the counter talking to a policeman at the door. She slowed to greet them, but Grayson had her elbow and was in a hurry to get her in the car. Were there angry people outside waiting for her? Sleet was spitting across the windshield. Who would stand outside in this weather? She could feel a dark cloud closing in on her mood and rebelled against it. Not tonight. She was not going to be pessimistic and worry about anything. She was going to have the most wonderful evening with Grayson. No worries. No complications.

Once they were on their way, he finally spoke. “I’m gonna want you to keep your coat on during dinner.”